


Stripped To The Bone

by NewPipBoyWhoDis



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Forced Prostitution, Pain, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewPipBoyWhoDis/pseuds/NewPipBoyWhoDis
Summary: A prostitute has taken up residence at the Dugout Inn and Nick Valentine has fallen hard for her. She is the only person who makes him feel truly alive - almost human, almost real. Unfortunately for the detective she has also attracted the attention of Elder Maxson.Is an old, discarded synth any match for human perfection?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys. I'm taking on another project. I know I shouldn't but I am apparently a sucker for pain. I will update Adamantine soon...ish. In the meantime, hope you enjoy.

At a certain point in his career Nick Valentine could determine what a client wanted in about five seconds. Wringing hands and downcast stares meant ‘I know where they might be and I’m scared for them.’ Constant pacing and rubbing the head equaled ‘I’ve done something wrong and now they’ve vanished.’ Mrs. Gimsby, who sat stiffly across from the old synth in his agency, held her arms tightly across her chest, lips pursed. It was the classic, ‘that bastard/bitch is cheating on me and I don’t know where they’ve gone.’

“What can I help you with, Mrs. Gimsby?” Valentine asked, lighting a cigarette.  
  
“That bastard is cheating on me Mr. Valentine,” she whined in a shrill voice. “And now I have no idea where’s run off to!”  
  
Valentine tried to suppress a grin as he took out his notepad. “I’m sorry to hear that. When was the last time you saw him?”  
  
“Two nights ago,” the middle aged woman huffed. “He said he had to go out somewhere—but I know exactly what he was doing. He went to the Dugout to see that—that _harlot_ who has infested this place.”

Ah, yes. Vadim had mentioned a certain _lady of the night_ who had taken up residence at the bar. “Nice young woman,” the barkeep had described her. “Usually, I do not condone such activities here. But, she is not like ah— _other_ women in her profession. Very easy on the eyes. Smart, too. I let her stay.”

Nick, of course, had no reason to keep company with such a woman. Didn’t have the parts for it. But he had predicted given this girl’s profession her activities would send a client or his way. Partners demanding where their lovers had been going at night. His theory, it seemed, tested true. At least this wife held no illusions.  
  
That is until she started talking again.

“I know exactly what’s she’s doing,” Mrs. Gimsby sniffed. “She works for the _Institute._ She—she lures good honest men away from their dutiful wives so they can snatch them up. She’s an agent of darkness, detective. She’s holding my husband captive!”  
  
This time, Nick could not suppress a withering sigh. The Institute had become an easy scapegoat for lousy partners. He knew Mr. Gimsby. He had witnessed first hand the old man harassing Ellie in the market and quickly put an end to it. More likely, he had fled from his domestic life. Hell, he probably had another family.  
  
Still, Nick had a job to do. The least he could do was interrogate the woman at the Dugout. “Don’t worry. We’ll find Mr. Gimsby.” _And a trail of fifteen other women he’s probably compromised at some point._

* * *

 

“Nick, old friend! It’s good to see you!” Vadim greeted warmly. “You’re ready to test new moonshine, yes?”  
  
“Not if it was the last coolant on earth,” Nick replied flatly. “I’m here to see your ah. . . new associate.” 

Vadim shot the synth a wicked grin. “Oh, detective. I did not take your for a kind of man who seeks such company.”  
  
“Not _that_ kind of visit, Vadim. Missing husband. Mr. Gimsby.” 

“Of course,” Vadim chortled. “I see him two days ago with Ghyslaine our new… associate as you say. He was, how you say, _in a state_. She is in room four. Might be off duty. Knock anyway, yes?”  
  
Valentine gave a curt nod and headed toward the room. _As if I’m going to just barge in on a prostitute,_ he thought irritably, and gave the door a polite tap. No response. He tried once more, firmly this time. From the other side of the door came a slight groan and the ruffling of covers.

“Just a minute,” a tired voice replied. Made sense. _If she works nights it’s reasonable to believe 1pm might be early for her._ He listened as the person on the other side struggled with several locks before finally opening the door a crack. 

When he saw Ghyslaine’s face, it was as if Nick was seeing a woman for the first time in his life.

The world disappeared and only she existed. Ghyslaine gazed at him through intent, grey eyes. A voluminous, curly afro adorned her head like a crown. She had dewy chestnut skin, with a light dusting of freckles across her perfect nose. When she pressed her full lips together the detective felt a jolt course his entire system. For the first time in a long time Detective Nick Valentine found himself flustered.

“Ah, sorry miss . . . I uhm,” he cleared his throat. “I need a moment of your time.”  
  
“And who the hell are you?” she asked tersely. Nick couldn’t help but notice the smokiness in her voice, like a raspy jazz singer.

“Detective Nick Valentine,” he replied trying to regain confidence. “I need to ask you about a Mr. Gimsby. Did you see him last night?”

“I _may_ have. But I don’t discuss clients with strangers. Sorry.”

She began to close the door but Nick blocked it with his arm. Her eyes widened with alarm. “Look,” he demanded, “the wife is asking about him. I just wanted to know if he discussed anything with you about going somewhere. He’s gone missing.”  
  
“I don’t know anything,” she snapped. “Please, leave me alone.”  
  
Nick backed away and Ghyslaine slammed the door shut. _Not your worst moment. Although, certainly not the best._ He was about to admit defeat when the door opened all the way. To his embarrassment Ghyslaine was wearing nothing but a tattered shirt that barely passed her upper things. She glared at him, and then rolled her eyes.

“Come in,” she sighed, not bothering to hide her agitation.

Cautiously, the synth entered her room. She had made quick work of it that was for sure. A string of delicate lights hung from the ceiling adding natural light to the grim room. A projector was mounted on the wall along with several pictures—mostly landscapes, but a few up close shots of people’s faces, Brahmin’s, and even a super mutant off in the distance. The detective noted her unpacked suitcase, although makeup littered a vanity with a cracked mirror. Ghyslaine sat with her lithe legs crossed on the couch. From between the cushions she pulled out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. 

“Want one?” she offered, easing the cigarette between her lips. If Nick had a heart—a real heart—it would be pumping all the blood in his system below.

“No,” he muttered. “I just want to talk.”

She shrugged and lit the cigarette. Coolly, she let a smoke ring escape her lips, never taking her eyes off Nick. She positively glowed with an effortless sex appeal. _Business must be booming for her,_ he thought. 

She leaned her head back revealing her long, slender neck, blowing a stream of smoke out to the roof. “Honestly, if I were his wife, I’d be thankful his ass is gone,” she said moving neck down to look at Nick again. “The man was feeling himself a little too much. Complaining about her in the worst way. He was no good. You should tell her that.”  
  
“Did he mention if he might be leaving somewhere?” Nick asked, trying to stay focused. He didn’t know where to look. She wasn’t wearing pants and he could see the soft fabric of her panties between her legs.

Ghyslaine gave an unconcerned shrug. “He talked about leaving Diamond City. Wanted to take me with him. But, I think he was more frustrated than anything. Bored with his wife. Bored with this,” she said gesturing around. “I don’t see why. Doesn’t seem so bad to me.”

“Give it time,” Nick replied.

The young woman flicked the cigarette on the floor and put it out with her bare foot. “Please," she huffed. "People like him look for reasons to be unhappy. Me? I got a roof over my head and food to eat. I’m happy. I’m not gonna search for reasons not to be.”

A ghost of a smile swept across Nick’s lips. He could spend all day listening to her voice. Looking at her long toned legs. Imagine pulling her panties down to her knees . . . _damnit._

“I should go,” he said promptly standing. “Thanks for your help, Ghyslaine.”  
  
“Tell your client she’s better off without him,” Ghyslaine smirked stretching seductively on the couch. “And come see me sometime, Nick. When you’re off duty and I’m . . . working.”  
  
Nick made no reply to this. Had he been a man—a real man—he may have taken her up on her offer. But, as it stood, he couldn’t be with her in any capacity. He walked back to the agency, hands in his pockets, left with a burning frustration he could not satisfy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The report in Maxson’s hand wasn’t merely abysmal. The appalling details he finished reading represented a serious blight on the Brotherhood’s honor. A disgusting act the Elder could not— _would not_ —ignore.  

“Would one of you like to explain this?” The Elder demanded holding up the file.

In front of him were two shame-faced Knights. Usually tough in battle, backs straight and assured of their power, they both stood with their eyes on the floor, cowering.

Maxson let the silence drag on. Eventually, one of them would break. Silence had a way of doing prying people’s mouths open.

Knight Jayne raised his head. “Sir, it was a mistake. We had been drinking and—”

“Drinking on duty, Knight?”

The Knight lowered his head again. Elder Maxson circled the two with his arms behind his back. “You call battering and sexually assaulting a civilian a _mistake_? When you’re out there in the Commonwealth you represent the Brotherhood—all of us together as one. Do you understand? We are trying to unite the people for us. Fight for their rights. Instead, I learn that two of my officers _while on duty_ went to a bar and sexually harassed a prostitute they used Brotherhood caps to pay for.” He felt his rage building with every word. “Never mind fraternization while duty. Never mind inebriation while on duty. Attempting to rape a woman—and hurting her in the process—your behavior is inexcusable by every standard.” 

He stood before them his voice lowered. Menacing. “From here on out, you will be stripped of your titles as Knights. You will receive minimum rations. You will not be allowed out of your rooms for more than two hours a day. And you will spend the rest of your time on the Prydwen cleaning Molerat _shit_ off the floor. In a month’s time you will stand trial. I assure you there is no hope you will continue to be members of the Brotherhood. And that is the _least_ of your punishment. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Elder,” they replied in unison.

Two senior officers escorted them out of the Observation Deck, but the problem was far from over. Elder Maxson had decided to visit Diamond City himself. The Brotherhood’s name had been sorely damaged, yes. But worse yet, a civilian had been brutally hurt by the hands of two Brotherhood Knights. Maxson hated the fact it happened at all and he wished to see the woman and at least try to make amends on behalf of the Brotherhood. 

Within the hour he was on a Vertibird.

_________  


Ghyslaine had made it abundantly clear to Vadim that she didn’t not want to see any clients that day. She wanted rest and to be left alone. And yet, the man in the strange coat was annoyingly persistent.

“I only wish to speak to her,” he repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time. “It is a matter of great importance to me.”

Vadim sighed. He didn’t imagine this man was going to leave anytime soon, but he did not want to bother Ghyslaine—especially after the assault two days ago. His heart ached for the woman. She didn’t deserve any of this. She was a good girl with a big heart and kind eyes. She deserved to be left alone if she wanted. Not pestered by men who demanded her attention—as if a whore was all she was in their eyes. The barkeep was about to usher the strange man out when Ghyslaine appeared out of her room. Vadim tried to signal her by making a slashing gesture across his throat, but it was too late. She entered in a short, white dress with a beautiful shawl wrapped her around her slender shoulders.   
  
Maxson could tell she had tried to hide a bruise under her eye with make up. 

“It’s alright, Vadim,” Ghyslaine said. She turned to Arthur. “Sir, I’m sorry. I am not taking clients at this time.”  
  
“I’m not seeking that kind of companionship,” Maxson assured her. “My name is Elder Maxson of the Brotherhood of Steel. I’ve come to answer for the actions taken against you.”  
  
In an instant Vadim grabbed the shotgun from under the bar and pointed it at Maxson’s face. “You with Brotherhood? We don’t serve your kind here anymore. Leave. _Now_.”

Maxson held his hands up. “I only wish to talk. We can have a discussion right here if you wish.”

Ghyslaine glared at the Elder—a look so full of disgust, the Elder felt as though _he_ was the one who violated her. “Fine,” she said. “We’ll talk in my room. Vadim, keep that shotgun loaded.”  
  
The bartender nodded keeping his eye on Maxson as Ghyslaine as they disappeared into her small room. Arthur was surprised she felt comfortable enough to close the door with only the two of them inside. Perhaps she knew the slightest sound of distress and Vadim would enter, guns blazing. She walked the length of the small room and sat on her vanity. Seeing Arthur unsure of where to sit she gestured to the cushioned chair in front of her vanity. 

“So. Elder.” She looked him up and down. “You don’t look that old to me.”  
  
“It’s merely a title,” he explained. “My age doesn’t demure my experience.”  
  
Ghyslaine smirked. “I’ve certainly heard that plenty of times.”   
  
_At least she’s willing to talk,_ Maxson thought. She began to prepare a small hookah saying nothing more. He watched as she meticulously compacted the shisha covering with aluminum before poking holes and placing a burning coal on top. She leaned back and inhaled deeply and observed Arthur through half lidded eyes. Maxson, in turn, tried not to be distracted by the way her full lips pressed against the head of the pipe. Or how, when her shawl revealed her dress, he could see her full breasts beneath the fabric.

“Why are you here, Maxson?” she asked. “Trying to buy my silence?”  
  
“No. I’ve come to assure you the Knights in question have been dealt the highest punishment until they stand trial. And when they do . . . I will make sure they leave the Brotherhood shamed—perhaps no longer intact. Believe me when I say this: we at the Brotherhood do not take these transgressions lightly.”  
  
Ghylsaine filtered a stream of smoke out of her nostrils like an angry, speculative dragon. He watched turn his words over in her head, assessing them. _Smart girl not taking everything at face value._ “Want some?”

Arthur hesitated. It had been a very long time since he had engaged in such activity. But the teasing smile playing on her lips encouraged him to grab the pipe. She watched intently as he inhaled the shisha deeply—a delicious mutfruit and grape flavor scorched is throat. He exhaled slowly feeling lightheaded in the wake of the smoke.

“I made that sisha myself,” she said. “You like it, _Elder_?”

The way _Elder_ slipped out of her lips was enough to arouse him. Again, Maxson found himself desperately trying to stay focused. “Do you mind telling me exactly what happened? I mean, if you don’t feel uncomfortable . . .”  
  
Ghyslaine grabbed the pipe out of his hand and put it back to her lips. She tilted her head and released little smoke circles from her mouth. Arthur watched in fascination. She gave him back the stem and—against all reason—he took another hit. He liked the way she watched him with her head resting on her fist.

“Your boys wanted something off the menu so to speak,” Ghyslaine replied. “I believe a baby molerat was mentioned. I told them absolutely not. They tried to pin me down—I fought back. Vadim intervened before they could overpower me. And that’s it.”

She took the pipe away from him, checked the shisha, and rekindled the coal. Her shawl had fallen around her elbows revealing her slender shoulders, long neck. He could make out the slender curves; see her breasts and hips completely. Arthur stared in awe of Ghyslaine.

“You know,” she said. “This wouldn’t have been the first time I was forced to do something I didn’t want to do. I guess when people buy me . . . they don’t even think of me as a person anymore. Just a thing they can do whatever they want with. So yeah, usually in my line of work no one gives a damn about what happens to me. Hell, I was grateful enough Vadim interfered on my behalf. “ She inhaled deeply breathing the smoke out slowly through her mouth. “It’s a little sad I should be surprised you would come all this way to apologize. But I suppose that’s the way the world is now.”

“You deserve to be treated with respect,” Arthur replied. “Everyone in the Commonwealth does. And I won’t have the Brotherhood behaving otherwise.”

Ghysaline offered a pained smile in response. “Just so you know. . . I won’t be taking the Brotherhood as clients anymore. With one exception.”  
  
To Arthur’s intense surprise she slid off the vanity and straddled him. His brain tried to play catch up as she took a deep hit from the hookah and breathed it into his mouth. His hand firmly gripped her waist. In response, she moved her hips against his arousal, almost unbearable in his Brotherhood suit. 

“You don’t have to do this . . . “ Maxson whispered. “This isn’t what I came for.” 

Ghyslaine laughed. “ _Have_ to? You’re absolutely right. Even a prostitute doesn’t have to do anything. Want, however. Want to. . . that’s an entirely different story. I’m not seeing any clients. Remember?  . . . I want to do this without getting paid.” She leaned in her lips brushing against his. “And what do you want, _Elder_?”  
  
There it was again. _Elder,_ like top shelf whiskey. In one motion he grabbed the dress from the hem and pulled it over her head. His hands traced down her collarbone, skimming over her erect, dusky nipples, down to her thigh. He was surprised her sex clean shaved—a rarity in the Wasteland. Ghyslaine wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him into a deep kiss. His hands grabbed everything—her breasts, her waist, her ass. She pushed off his coat and started attempting to undo his Brotherhood flight suit.  
  
Her brow furrowed. “What the . . . I don’t even know where to start with this.”  
  
Their eyes locked and for the first time in a long time Maxson found himself laughing playfully. “Here," he murmured. "Let me show you . . .”


End file.
